The Man Who Mastered Death
by bridgetwidget
Summary: The first time that Harry James Potter died, he had felt nothing. The fifth time that Harry died, his son said Hallows, not Horcruxes. The nth time that Harry Potter died….well….


**The Man Who Mastered Death**

**Title: **The Man Who Mastered Death  
**Author: **Bridgetwidget  
**Warnings: **Character Deaths, dark  
**Ratings: **T (to be safe)  
**Summary: **The first time that Harry James Potter died, he had felt nothing. The fifth time that Harry died, his son said Hallows, not Horcruxes. The nth time that Harry Potter died….well….  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Snape would survive.  
**Pairing: **Implied Harry/Ginny  
**Status: Complete  
Word Count: **5,832**  
Beta-Reader(s): None, So there will be some mistakes.  
Author's Note: **In this fic I haven't given much thought to how the world around Harry will progress. It is almost impossible to imagine what the future will be like so I haven't mentioned it much at all. I figured though, that the Wizarding World would not change much at all except for the development of different forms of transportation, spells and potions. The culture will be much the same, especially since they have cut themselves off completely from the muggle world.

..ooOoo..

The first time that Harry James Potter died, he had felt nothing. There was no sign that he was moving over into the realm of the dead, Hades' lair, no thought or feeling. It just felt as if he was going to sleep after a rather long day. In the afterlife, in the crossroads it had felt cool, _warm, _Dumbledore's presence lighting up area with only the dark stain of Voldemort's Horcrux causing a shadow.

The Hallows was only lightly mentioned, as singular objects. The title _Master of Death _brushed over only lightly. The reason for his continued existence in the mortal realm was only given small imperfect answers.

Looking back, Harry wonders whether Dumbledore knew what was coming for him; whether the hint of sadness in his eyes when Harry decided to go back, instead of moving on to _them_, was a hint that he knew the pain that was coming for him.

..ooOoo..

The second time that Harry James Potter died, it came as a surprise. It was 2059 now; New Year's Eve and the world had been gripped with their new dark lord, Heru Slytherin, great-great-grandson of Morfin Gaunt, the heir of Slytherins. For six years he had attacked, hitting the Ministry hard and fast, the people not expecting an attack. Harry did, but for two years he ignored the calls, letting the wizarding world deal with their problems. But the death count rose too high and he was forced to step in.

The people welcomed him in, crying out praises and relief to the world. But their relief quickly changed to fear and resentment as Harry Potter changed laws and shook the Wizarding World to its core. He stopped once there were whispers of Harry Potter really being Heru Slytherin in disguise, but his still tore though the Ministry like a bulldozer, fishing out any signs of corruption that had formed in his absence. He knew now that it was a mistake to leave the Wizarding World with his wife Ginny after cleaning up the Ministry the first time; that corruption can grow and spread like a bug.

It took four years until Harry managed to get Heru into open combat, the Slytherin being more sly and cunning than Voldemort ever had. But Harry was not the most feared man in the wizarding world for nothing, and soon he faced Heru down, with their armies tearing themselves apart around them.

They fought, almost equal, killing more bystanders then both armies put together. Harry's oldest and youngest child, James and Lily lost their lives, struck down by either Heru or his killing spells. In the corner of his eye, Harry could see Albus and Teddy dragging their bodies away.

In that moment of weakness, of grief for his children, Harry was struck down, caught by surprise. He died with an open mouth and bright eyes.

..ooOoo..

Harry vaguely remembered pain when he woke for the second time in the afterlife and he instantly recognised the building above him, King's Cross Station. He clambered to his feet, relishing the nakedness of his skin. Remembering how the room worked last time he tried to imagine robes, but to his shock, none appeared.

Shivering at the slight breeze that had appeared, Harry wrapped his arms around himself. He looked around at the station, noticing that it was deserted and somehow felt darker than last time.

"So this is it then?" Harry asked out into the gloom, his voice echoing, "No welcoming party?"

Harry took a few steps, marvelling at the feeling of _pain _that was shooting up his leg. Last time there had been no pain; last time there was a feeling of nothingness, of floating. Then again, last time there had been robes as well.

"Dumbledore?" he tried again, "Anyone?"

He started walking to the tracks, intending to step on one and follow it out of the station to, what he hope would be, the afterlife.

As he was about to step down onto the tracks he found that he suddenly couldn't, that some invisible barrier stopped him from lowering his foot any further. Sighing, he withdrew.

"Alright, whoever his out there I have not spent 80 years of shit only to spend it naked in some half-assed train station. Now where are you?" Harry yelled out, his temper flaring.

_You shouldn't be here. _A voice whispered, weaving around the station. Harry's head snapped around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"No shit Sherlock," he muttered, "So, if you are anything like Dumbledore you should give me options. Go back or go on."

_You must go back._

"Okay," he replied, wishing he had pockets to stick his hands into. Clothes would have been better, "You got a robe for me. 'Cause I'm feeling kinda strange, naked."

There was no response.

"Take that as a _'no'_ then," he muttered again, huffing, "So am I going to go back now. You know, dark lords to kill. This time I think I will spend longer cleaning up that Ministry of mine. I told them that it was a bad idea to pass those Creature Restriction Laws but _noooooo. _Look what it got them, Heru Slytherin."

_You will go back now._

"Thank you," Harry replied, readying him to go back, "Wait!" He yelled suddenly and the wind that had been forming around his slowed, "May I see Lily and James, my children? I know they d-died."

Silence. Then; _No._

Harry knew know more.

..ooOoo..

When Harry came back, he was a bit miffed that the wizarding world wasn't as shocked as they could have been. Yet his continued survival gained him nothing but a new Order of Merlin and a new title 'The Immortal Man'.

Harry laughed hysterically when he heard it and thought of Voldemort.

Heru Slytherin lay six feet underground, lain in the Earth by his daughter who had managed to steal the body from the Ministry. He had died on the 1st of January 2060.

Harry Potter disappeared three years later, gone to go live alone with his wife, grieving for their children whilst Albus Potter, a Slytherin Alumni, worked his way through politics.

..ooOoo..

The third time that Harry James Potter died, it was very painful. By now, his wife had perished from a small upstart dark lord that had thought he could go after the Potter family. The dark lord had died, painfully over fifty years ago.

Harry was now 270 years old and had enough of life. His last son Albus, was dead and he had long lost track of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren and his great-great-grandchildren. Most did not know him at all; some only knew him as a rather short-tempered old man that lived in the body of a seventeen year old.

Ron and Hermione were long dead, their children moved on. They had died together, happy from old age, looking over a hundred years old.

He had not aged a day since he had held the Elder Wand all those years ago. He did not want to think about that at all.

..ooOoo..

King Cross Station had changed since the last time that he was here. The shadows had grown the darkness deeper and more profound. He wondered what was happening to the place, how it was changing and why. But he knew that those answers were beyond him.

He had yelled a bit about his privacy when robes had not appeared for him again, but he was met with silence so he went quiet. He twitched, looking around.

He saw his son.

Albus did not look older than the day he had died. He wore wispy green robes, accenting his eyes and making Harry more aware than ever of his own nakedness.

"Albus?"

Albus smiled, but did not move any closer to his dad.

"Hey dad."

Silence. Tension filled the room but Harry did not know the cause of it.

"Hey Al," Harry joked, trying the ease the tension, "Have you got any robes that I could borrow. I'm a little, well-"

Albus' smile faded and he frowned, his shoulder's hunching like he used to do when he was little and he was nervous. A sharp pang went though Harry and he realised how much that he wanted to see his family again.

"You cannot move on," Albus spoke, his voice strong and firm.

A pang of fear went through Harry, "Of course I can, Al. I died. I'm ready to see my wife again. To see Lily, to see James. To see your grandparents, my parents."

"You cannot move on," Albus repeated, and his face fell, "I'm- I am sorry. I don't know what it is. Why you can't- You just can't-"

Harry woke.

..ooOoo..

As he came to, covered in blood with a knife by his side, he realised that his son was gone and he screamed and raved and raged.

..ooOoo..

It was 750 years until the next dark lord found him. Harry had disappeared entirely after his suicide that wasn't-a-suicide. He had fallen into a depression that had taken _years _to get himself out of, with no one to help him. Afterwards, to stop himself from going crazy he bought, books, books and more books, hoping to assimilate all the knowledge that he could.

His name, Harry Potter, had passed into legend, his moniker Boy-Who-Lived remember as well as the Four Founders. There were whispers of course, that he was still alive, that he was really Immortal and was hiding away somewhere in the world. Most did not believe those tales, except one family. The Malfoys.

Narcissa Malfoy had told Draco and Draco had told Scorpiusand he had told his son and so on. The Malfoys always trusted their family knowledge so they knew the rumours were true.

For it had been the great Narcissa herself that had held the seventeen year old boy as he had come back from life, as he had breathed air again after being struck down with the killing curse. And Scorpius had witness the second time that Harry Potter had come back to life, mid battle. They knew the truth.

And so did Montgomery Malfoy, the last Malfoy and latest dark lord.

..ooOoo..

The fourth time that Harry James Potter died, he realised a lot of things. He realised that the killing curse hurt a lot more than it really should. He realised that most smart dark lords are never stupid or cocky enough to ignore an opportunity like an open back to kill someone. He realised that he should've taken down the young twerp before he had an opportunity to burn down his house. He also realised that King Cross Station was getting even more eerie and darker.

He also realised that no amount of yelling at disembodied voices was going to get him into the afterlife.

..ooOoo..

The fifth time that Harry James Potter died, in 4302 by suicide, he decided to ask his rather upset son why he wasn't aging and whether it was because of something that Voldemort did to him and whether he was missing a part of his soul or whether Voldemort had his soul and was really alive but not alive and whether they missed a Horcrux and Voldemort was really alive and out there somewhere and not really dead and fighting and _killing-_

His son interrupted and said three words; "Hallows, not Horcruxes."

When he woke, his head reeling in pain, he threw himself into books.

..ooOoo..

"_...in the real world. The legend goes further: if any person becomes the rightful owner of all three, then he or she will become 'master of Death', which has usually been understood to mean that they will become invulnerable, even immortal." – The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Notes by Albus Dumbledore._

Harry closed the book with a _SNAP!, _shutting his eyes and leaning back. With an audible sigh the 5250 year old man stood up and stretched. He was in the hidden Potter Manor where he had been living in for the last 700 or so years, ever since his last suicide.

The Potter Mansion was hidden away from the world with various wards and spells. Over the 5000 or so years that had passed since he had inherited it, many people had tried to find the famed mansion in hope to see if the legend was really true and that if the 'Immortal Boy-Who-Lived was really alive like the stories had said.

Running a hand through his raven locks, Harry sighed again and picked up another book; a small slim brown book entitled with golden lettering "_Harry Potter, the Theory of Immortality – Did he Succeed?"_. He had long since remembered every word in these books, but he could not help but read over them anyway. _The Theory of Immortality _was his favourite book because it was the most accurate and truthful of them all.

"_...as stated in paragraph 9, the theories behind Harry Potter's supposed immortality involve dark rituals, horcruxes and (what seems to be the most likely) the Deathly Hallows._

_The Deathly Hallows, originated in the _Tales of Beedle the Bard (for more on the tale of the Three Brothers and the Hallows themselves see chapter 4)._ It is written that if someone managed to unite and become the master of all three Hallows, the cloak, the stone and the wand they would become the master of death..."_

Harry flickered through the book, looking for another page.

"_...after taking the Elder Wand from Lord Voldemort. The Resurrection Stone was found in the Forbidden Forest some twenty years after the Final Battle of Hogwarts by a man named George Brown. He had boasted about the stone, saying that he had found an object that could bring people back to life. He died that very night, killed by a knife to the chest. Harry Potter was seen around him that day._

_The Cloak was a well known artefact that was in the Potter Family for generations-"_

Harry shut the book with a snap and placed it down on the table. With another sigh he got to his feet, he stretched and looked out of the window.

The words of the book ran through his head, over and over again. They refused to get out of his head and he quietly recited them under his breath.

"Usually been understood to mean they will become invulnerable, even immortal. " Harry snorted, "Damn you Albus for letting me even hear about the Deathly Hallows!"

_...originated in the Tales of..._

Harry clutched his head in an effort to keep the voices out.

_...it is written that if..._

_...the cloak, the stone and the wand..._

_...the master..._

_...he died that very night..._

Harry screamed as he threw himself out the Library Window and he fell.

..ooOoo..

The sixth time that Harry James Potter died he did not even both to try and summon robes. He instead opted to talk to his son who had appeared the same time that he had.

"Master of Death? I thought being the master meant that I had control whether I wanted to get pass this place or not?" Harry asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Crossroads." Albus murmured, turning away from Harry and looking behind at the rapidly darkening station.

"Huh?" Harry reached out his hand and spun Albus around, forcing his son to look at him, "What did you say?"

"Crossroads," he stated, sweeping his arm around him, "This is the Crossroads, the place of choice. To move or go back, as spirit or as ghost."

"Well, obviously there have been a few road blocks built up for me then," Harry said, irritation seeping into his voice.

"Yes," Albus sighed, turning away from Harry again.

After a long pause, Harry spoke again, "Al. Is this it, the reason that I will not age? The Hallows. The Wand. The Stone. The Cloak." Albus nodded, not speaking. Harry continued, "And the reason I won't age. I won't grow any older from the minute that I united all three of the Hallows, will I?" Again, Albus shook his head, refusing to look at his father, "I couldn't resist them either. The cloak always ended up in my trunk no matter how many times I tried to throw it away. The stone and the wand got too dangerous to hide anywhere in the world except with me. They will not leave me."

"No," Albus whispered brokenly.

The room descended into silence. Albus still refused to look into Harry's eyes. A breeze flew by and Harry shivered, speaking "Albus-"

Suddenly, Albus turned around and threw himself into his father's arms, crying as he did so. Harry buried his face in the crook of his shoulder and wept. They both fell to the ground as they cried, father and son reunited.

"How-" Harry whispered into Albus' neck, "How-am I not to go crazy? How am I to survive?"

"I don't know, dad," Albus whispered back, "I just don't know."

..ooOoo..

When Harry returned, healing his broken body, he immediately left his sanctuary and joined the world again. He took on a new name Severus Lovegood in memory of two people that had changed his life. He wandered through the never-changing Diagon Alley, marvelling at how little the Wizarding World has changed over the last 5000 years or so.

He did not know of the state of the muggle world, and he dared not try to leave and go into it. He had seen in the early years of his life how much the muggles had developed and he knew that whatever their technology was now, it would be far beyond anything he could understand. Or maybe they had killed themselves all off. Harry knew that in the 3rd millennia the wizarding world had cut off ties completely with the muggle world. World War V had hit both worlds hard and when the British people started speaking some odd version of Chinese, they knew it was time for the wizarding world to go underground.

For once in his life, he was glad that the wizarding world was so stagnant and unchanging. He did not need to spend every year trying to understand what was changing; sometimes he could go a hundred years without ever entering Diagon Alley.

It was with this knowledge that Harry re-entered the wizarding world, 123 years since he had last entered it. He quickly stole the memories of the world from a short, middle aged balding man named George White; his legilimencystronger then it was ever before. Using this information, he forged his new identity; Severus Lovegood, born July 31st 7213, orphan who was homeschooled by Albus Granger until his records were destroyed by a fire.

He never took another man's memory. He should have.

..ooOoo..

Harry had spent the last 2000 years or so moving through various identities, using glamours to age and faking his death every 100 years or so. He created families under many different aliases, losing track of them very quickly. He became the Minister of magic under the name Arthur Creevey and spent five years in office, he played and coached World Class Quidditch Teams, he became Hogwart's Headmaster, he travelled and married and lived life over and over and over again.

In 9180, everything would change.

..ooOoo..

His latest life, a recluse living with his wife and two children ended quite quickly at the premature death of his family. He moved on quickly, death being such a big part of his life he had almost forgotten how to mourn. As he was walking home he got frustrated with his life and angry because it was so unfair that it had to be him and why couldn't he be normal and he wanted to see his true family again-

Stopping his thoughts, Harry or Ron as he was known at the moment, slipped quickly into a Wizarding Brothel that was on the street that he was walking in. He quickly realised that he had walked into some sort of brothel. A young petite red-haired walked up to him.

"Are you looking for some time, magic?" The woman spoke in an eager voice. Harry spared a quick mental laugh at the slang of this time and allowed himself to be led up into the upper rooms of the brothel. A quick thought of Ginny passed his head, but he pushed it away. She was dead, long, long dead.

On that Night Septimus Riddle was conceived accidently. He was born nine months later and given to an orphanage.

The name alone should have been an alarm for Harry, but he never kept track of his children.

Nor did he keep track on recent potion inventions. Something that if he had, he could have saved himself a lot of fuss.

His son, Septimus Riddle, was raised in the orphanage liked a certain Tom Riddle. He was also sorted into Slytherin like Tom and decided to delve into his family to see what his heritage was.

He had an advantage over Tom Riddle; where Tom had his parseltongue to discover his Slytherin heritage, Septimus had the obscure and recently invented Heritage Potion. When taking the potion he had been shocked when "Father – Harry James Potter Born: July 31st 1980". At first he had thought that the potion was wrong and had mixed up the time somehow, but after researching the name Harry Potter, he knew the truth. When he turned seventeen he looked into the Potter vault, a vault that he could look into but not take anything from without his father knowing. As he walked through the vault he saw a handful of notes with his father's writing. As he looked at them he saw the truth.

_Immortality….Deathly Hallows. _

He resolved to find his father and take the Hallows from him.

..ooOoo..

The seventh time that Harry James Potter died, in 9234, he realised that trying to masquerade as a mortal man was really harder than he thought. He died using the name Ron Granger and he knew that he could have been smarter than that.

His son, Septimus had finally caught up to him, 35 years after first making the discovery of his father. Harry had no idea how he had found them, he considered the over-use of names from friends and family of his time but never thought any further than that. He had fled. The next two years he had spent running and hiding from his stubborn son, cursing the day that he had ever tried to create a family.

Septimus became the Dark Lord of the 9200s. He gained follows quickly, marking them on their left forearm with a tattoo of a lighting bolt. Each follower had one similarity; every one of them was somehow related to Harry Potter, whether as a son, daughter, grandchild, great-grandchild, it didn't matter.

The Ministry of Magic became nervous. They knew that something was going on, that Septimus was building up an army. But none knew why they were, whom they were targeting and what their motives were. There were no spies, no inside men that could give any information.

Septimus had built his army well.

They all fought for one goal, to find Harry Potter. Why they wanted to find him was different for every person. Some wanted to find him for his money and inheritance, others wanted to interrogate him for his history, others just wanted fame.

A good portion wanted to find out how he was immortal. Septimus was clever though; he destroyed any book that mentioned the Hallows. He was the only one who knew what to look for.

When they came for Harry, he was surprised and unprepared. Years of endless living had made him apathetic and he never taken very many precautions. He was regretting it now.

They burnt down his Manor after raiding it; he was forced to flee. As he was leaving the grounds he caught his first glimpse at his son and saw the madness in his red eyes. He saw Voldemort again. He knew then, that his son had made a Horcrux.

Two years he ran and searched. The ministry by now knew of his existence and more and more people were joining Septimus, people he had never heard of all somehow distantly related to him. Books sprung up, he was on the front page of the newspaper constantly and once again he was known as the Boy-Who-Lived.

Two years and Septimus finally caught up to him. He was hiding out in the very small and not-so-forbidden-anymore-and-now-actually-a-preservation-for-dark-magicial-creatures forest. He didn't dare approach Hogwarts. When Septimus descended on him he knew that he really couldn't continue this and he really needed to catch up on modern times and that he was really screwed and-

He never saw the killing curse coming.

..ooOoo..

"You really are pathetic you know that?" Albus growled, helping a fallen Harry to his feet. Harry said nothing, looking anywhere but his son.

"You really should see the family reunions in the afterlife, god knows how many people come here and realised that they are _the Harry Potter's _son or wife or husband or whatever. Mum's a bit miffed, but she understands. Well almost everyone; the red haired hooker? Nu-uh. Uncle Ron hasn't stop cheering after you used his name to create a Qudditch Team and named it the Chudley Cannons. You should have seen him when they disbanded all those years ago. 'Course Qudditch down there isn't the same any more. Aunt Hermione-"

Harry drops back into life, not wanting to hear any more.

..ooOoo..

Harry woke, feeling his other son's hand move all over his body. Already one hand held his wand and the cloak and Harry knew that he was looking for the resurrection stone which lay in a pouch around his neck.

He lay there, still, as Septimus let out a gasp of excitement and pulled the pouch from under his neck. Harry did not move, he did not want to. Finally there was a chance that someone could take the dammed Hallows from him and he would be free to die, free to move on, free to-

Septimus had moved off him now and was crying out to his followers, "He is a fake. The real Harry Potter is out there somewhere. Return to base." Groans and complaints could be heard, but the followers suddenly disappeared silently. Harry knew that this was some new form of apparition. A glimmer of admiration for Septimus formed, he really knew how to control his army.

Once again, he felt hands on his body and he forced himself to stillness. A string of Latin words came out of Septimus' mouth and suddenly then was a hole underneath him and he was falling and falling and-

THUMP!

It felt an arm break as it pressed underneath him to the earth. Harry bit back a yell, the pain of a broken arm is nothing to the pain of death so he suppressed it quite easily. He knew he was in a hole in the ground though, he knew what to expect.

Wandlessly he used the bubblehead charm as dirt fell from about and hit him. He breathed slowly in and out, chuckling mentally when he realised that he had actually been buried alive.

He waited one hour, then two. He did not move, just in case someone was hanging around. In his mind, he celebrated. He was finally free of the Hallows, he could die. Drawing his magic close, he prepared to get out of the grave. With a shout, he blasted the dirt that barred his way to freedom.

With a grin on his face he started to pull himself out of the grave, wanting to die in some other method than starvation. He pulled himself up, over the edge of the grave and-

He gasped letting go and falling back into the hole. His fall jolted his broken arm but he ignored the pain. With a sob he curled himself up, burying his face in his arms. He would not face the truth; he could not face the truth.

Above the grave sat the three Hallows, spread out around the edge of the hole.

..ooOoo..

Harry spent the next years taking down his son ruthlessly. Septimus reminded him too much of Voldemort and he could not stand the old memories coming up again. He killed the followers of Septimus by the hundreds, not truly caring if civilians or innocents got in the way. Death was death; no one could escape it. Well, except for him.

He wondered how big the family reunions in the afterlife were getting. He wondered what Albus would think of it.

It took 19 years of Harry to find all of his Horcruxes, meeting Septimus many times in battle. He did not let himself die again but he let Septimus take the Hallows from him many times. Without fail, though, they kept coming back.

The Ministry of Magic, or whatever it was called today, had joined Septimus by now, eager for Harry's money or blood. Potions were created to see if you were related to Harry somehow, even if you weren't by blood.

Suddenly there was no prejudice on whether you were muggleborn, half-blood, pureblood, magical creature or squib. Now you were judged on how closely related to Harry Potter you were. Harry's sons and daughters and grandchildren were the elite, marrying each other constantly to keep the 'Harry Potter' blood in.

It was madness. Utter madness.

In the end though Harry finally killed Septimus in a long bloody battle. The ministry was there as well, fighting both sides trying their hardest to get their hands on the great Harry Potter. Carelessly he destroyed both armies, killing off many of his sons and daughters and grandchildren.

When the dust settled and the sound of mourning rose from the bloody battlefield; Harry lowered his wand and sighed. He was tired.

_He was so, so tired._

..ooOoo..

The long-lost-tracked-number of time that Harry James Potter died, goodness knows what the date was; he spent only a second in the afterlife. Finally after so many centuries (or millennium, or was it eternity?), someone had finally gotten someone successful in researching time travel.

He didn't expect it to work; he had long given up any hope of death. Day after day, year after year he watched the clock tick by. He counted seconds by his breaths, he sat and waited. He did not move, he died of dehydration and starvation and came back; again and again and again. He did not leave his underground home. Occasionally he would spare a thought to those above; were they dead, had they left earth? Was there no one left in the universe? Was he the last person left?

Sometimes he would get curious; the same damned curiosity that got him in so much trouble in Hogwarts. Effortlessly he cast his mind from his body and allowed it to sweep the earth.

Most of what came back was confusing nonsense, statistics and language and words and rhymes that meant nothing to him. One day though, he found the man that discovered something that could give him what he had searched for.

Death.

For the first time it what seemed like ever; Harry stood up.

He did not care who had discovered time-travel, he only wanted results. He forced into his mind all the knowledge that this man had and set about his task.

His death had occurred when he ventured from his home; he resolved to be more careful next time.

..ooOoo..

Ron bit his lip, hurrying as quickly as he could up the stairs to where Dobby waited. Above him, Hermione's screams pierced the air alongside Bellatrix s laughter. Flinching, he glanced back to where Harry had frozen behind him.

"Harry, bloody hell, don't stop. We have to-"

He words died on his lips as he looked back at Harry. Harry stood frozen on the steps, eyes wide and shivering. But what scared Ron the most was the look in his eyes. Never before had Ron seen such a haunted, awful look on someone's face.

"Harry?"

The boy-who-lived's snapped up to him and widened. Ron drew back when he saw tears falling down Harry's face.

"Harry?"

"It worked…" His words came out as a murmur…but within them they held the pain and suffering of one who had lived far, far, far beyond his time.

"Harry?"

With an audible snap, Harry's head shot up and gave Ron a piercing stare. For a few moments they did nothing but stare at each other, Ron shaken by how in a few short seconds Harry had seemingly changed completely.

"Harry?" he spoke again, as Hermione's screams grew louder, "We have to go. We have to get a wand-"

At this Harry starting shaking again, "Grab a wand?" he whispered.

Suddenly, Harry sprang up and pushed past Ron, racing up the stairs. With a shout Ron tumbled down the stairs desperately trying to grab onto something to balance himself. With a shake of his head, and sped after Harry, wondering what on earth was wrong with his friend.

He never got an answer.

..ooOoo..

The second time that Harry Potter escaped from Malfoy Manor he never used a wand. He never approached Draco Malfoy; he never tried to disarm him. Instead, he ran.

He ran to Godric's Hollow, the place that it had started for him and it was on the ground that his mother had given her life for him did he finally stop. It was there that he cast his mind into his scar and focused all of his years of despair, loneliness, pain and suffering onto the mind that was linked with his.

Voldemort didn't stand a chance. With a cry his mind collapsed.

His job completed, Harry conjured a piece of paper and a pen, sat down and started to write. He attempted to put down into words something that could never be comprehended by others. In the end though it didn't matter, he'd see them again one day.

Harry Potter took his last breath.

..ooOoo..

In King's Cross station, Albus was not there to meet him. Harry knew that this was a price that he paid by going back in time, his children no longer existed. But the selfish part of him (that had every right to be there, considering what he had gone through) cared little for family relationships or friendships and only longed for the sweet release of death.

Instead, Dumbledore waited for him.

"It worked right?" He asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore only smiled at him.

"Please say it worked."

Dumbledore spoke, eyes twinkling, "Time is everything. Time passes, shapes. Time-"

"Just SHUT UP and tell me. Can. I. Go. On?"

Dumbledore's face turned solemn and for a moment Harry's stomach turned in fear. "You are not the master of Death any longer, my boy. You may go on."

…

..

.

"Thank you."


End file.
